


S3MXT: A Shassie Love Story (Vol. 1) - Side B

by grabthefish



Series: S3MXT: A Shassie Love Story [2]
Category: Psych
Genre: A Lap Full of Spencer, Adorable Discomfort, Angst, Bad Dates Spawn Good Memories, Bypassing Bullshit, Car Questions, Concentration: Impossible, Convincing Lassie, Cookies Make Bad Bandaids, Creative Manhandling, Dammit McNab!, Escaping To The Bathroom Is A Bad Idea, Expanded Episode Dialogue, Giddy Up Lassie!, Harassment At Its Finest, Humor, In Which Case What's Wrong With You?, Karaoke Night Delight, Lassie Likes Blowjobs Too, Less Adorable Discomfort, M/M, Mixtape, Not Allergic To Fun, Not Quite Shop Talk, Or Is It?, Out To Play, Overheard Conversations, Paaaaaaaaaaaaaanic, Pineapple Schnapps Induced Courage, Psych - Freeform, Reacting The Wrong Way, Ribbing By The River, Romance, Season 3, See The Way You Look At Me, Shassie, Shawn Likes Blowjobs, Shawn Logic, Sister Fight, Spencertopia, Sternbush, Stress Release, Sudden Realizations, Taunting Teasing and Tongue Tangling, The River of Denial, Try Honesty, Unless You Aren't A Fan of Blowjobs, called out, fixing friendships, it's not, party time, until he doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 03:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grabthefish/pseuds/grabthefish
Summary: S3MXT: Season 3 Mixtape - set to an 80's soundtrack; the story behind the story, all while keeping as canonical as possible.After much thought and less action than one of them would like, Shawn and Carlton collide in a passionate flurry of questions and kisses, forcing a lot of unexpected introspection. Carlton goes on a date from hell in retaliation. Shawn realizes how bad he's got it and when he opens up to Gus about his feelings, he gets exactly the reaction he expected. A case causes friction between Shawn and Jules that prevents him from seeking the advice he needs and when Gus gets taken hostage at a bank, the gang unwinds by doing stupid things in public places.Track List:6. Take Me Home Tonight/Just Like Heaven - 3.05 Disco Didn't Die. It Was Murdered!7. Take On Me - 3.06 There Might be Blood8. That's All - 3.07 Talk Derby To Me9. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - 3.08 Gus Walks Into A Bank10. Tell It To My Heart - 3.08 Gus Walks Into A Bank*Must be read after S3MXT Vol. 1 (Side A) for continuity's sake





	1. Take Me Home Tonight/Just Like Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter takes place after season 3 episode 5: Disco Didn't Die, It Was Murdered! (w/ dialogue stolen from S7 episode 1)  
> ** The accompanying songs are Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money and Just Like Heaven by the Cure
> 
> Carlton drives Shawn home after the man shows up at the office. The cop finds himself unable to dodge a question that results in the psychic in his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mixtape's playlist, go [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0sVBPcpFqvIEbG4qlrxVZr); listen before, after, or during - the choice is yours, as long as you enjoy. New songs will be posted with the chapter they are attached to.

* * *

 

"Lassie, why'd you kiss me?"

The detective was startled.

This was _not_ how he expected things to go, and it _certainly_ wasn’t part of his plan. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he had a plan anymore, the one he’d concocted while half-cut being too ridiculous to follow through with now he’d sobered up and knocked some sense into himself.

He didn’t know what he was thinking, considering such things in the first place.

Carlton had been half-ignoring the man in the passenger seat of his car for the better part of ten minutes, not really paying attention, too busy questioning how he'd been roped into driving Spencer home in the first place and unsure of why the man had been at the station at all.

There was no reason for it, in between cases as they were, yet there the psychic was, somehow becoming Carlton's responsibility. While he knew there was little likelihood that the drive would occur in silence, he had hoped to get Spencer back before the man ran out of things to babble about and brought up their lip-lock up as a topic of conversation.

It seemed to be a bullet he would be unable to dodge after all.

"In the hallway. When I dared you to," Spencer prompted at his silence.

It took Carlton a remarkable length of time to catch on to what Spencer was quizzing him about. Ridiculous, really, when you consider how much time he had spent thinking of it.

"Why'd you kiss me?" the psychic prodded again.

"I – I don't know," the cop admitted.

"I call bullshit. Don't be a deep-fried jelly donut, Lassie!” Spencer said. “How can you not know why you kissed somebody?"

Carlton shot him a look.

"Maybe I was sleep deprived. Or maybe I was concussed. Who knows? Why are we discussing my grand error in judgment anyway?" he asked, pulling into the Psych office. He'd been rebuffed when he'd asked Spencer where he was staying, and though he had a sneaking suspicion the man was crashing there, he didn’t ask, doing his best to avoid getting personal. Personal was dangerous, especially with Shawn.

"We're here. You can get out now," he said, gesturing to the door.

Spencer ignored him.

"See, when I kissed Abby at the reunion it was because that event had been on my bucket list for like..." Shawn paused, counting on his fingers. "Sixteen years."

Carlton looked nonplussed, but the psychic continued.

"Tommy Thompson back in fifth grade, not so much. Gus needed a good distraction so he could steal his tap shoes back," he said casually. "Good kiss though. Made me consider broadening my horizons."

He looked at the detective, who looked back at him inquisitively.

"Made me wanna kiss boys, Lassie."

Carlton glared at Spencer, unimpressed with being treated like a moron.

"No kidding," he said. His voice was as flat as the look on his face before he turned it sarcastic and waved mockingly. “Bye now.”

"When did  _you_  know that you wanted to kiss boys?" his unwanted psychic sidekick asked in return, making no movement toward the door.

_Of course._

Carlton blinked and shook his head; begrudgingly accepting that he was going to be there a while, he turned the key in the ignition, the car going from idling to off.

"I am _not_ having this conversation with you," he replied, aware they were wading into uncomfortable territory and trying to steer the topic elsewhere. “What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just drop it?”

"Aha! So, you do admit to wanting to kiss boys then! Well, at your age, men, hopefully..."

"I'm not – I didn't..."

Carlton ran a hand through his hair and sighed, flustered.

"Ah, fuck it!"

"Ohh, it's a recent thing then," Spencer mused, a Cheshire Cat grin stretched across his face. "Maybe you really  _don't_ know why you're gay for me."

Carlton scowled, turning in the seat to face him.

"You’re the one who dared me to. What the hell was _that_ about, Spencer?" he asked, wishing the man would leave but needing to know the answer. It had been eating at him for what seemed like eons, and if he had to sacrifice a few more moments and a bit of dignity to get it, well then so be it. Spencer had stripped him of his dignity before, for far,  _far_ less.

He would survive.

The psuedo-psychic grinned, poking him in the shoulder as he replied. "Silly Lassie! I've told you how sexy you are when you're scowling at me -"

Carlton threw his hands up in frustration, exasperated with the runaround.

"More provocation,” he exclaimed. “Harassment at its finest!"

Shawn just laughed.

"It's not my fault you're so easily riled up," he shrugged casually, glancing at the detective as he unbuckled his seat-belt. Though he knew it was likely wishful thinking, it made Carlton hope an exit was imminent. "Besides, it’s a total turn-on when you're all domineering, Lassiepants.”

Carlton paled. Looking up to see the wan expression on his face, Shawn quickly continued.

"Plus, you were stressed, I was stressed, we were all alone -"

"A hallway at the precinct is not  _alone_ , Spencer. It's a semi-public place! It's my workplace as a matter of fact!" the detective interrupted.

"Ehh, I've heard it both ways," Spencer said, his smile sheepish as he shifted in place, obviously nowhere near ready to leave. "Anyway, what better cure for the moody blues than sucking face? It always puts a pep in _my_ step."

Carlton dropped his head to his chest, wondering how the conversation could get any worse. Knowing that with his track record, it was bound to.

"Y'know," Spencer smiled, leaning forward just a little, his grin growing wicked, "you look a little stressed right now."

"Gee, I wonder why?" Carlton muttered, his hand resting over his brow as he asked himself again how he’d gotten suckered into the situation.

"Anything I can do to help with that?" the psychic asked, smile growing wider.

"Besides shutting up and getting out, you mean?" Carlton replied, his lips pressed firmly into a thin line. He didn’t know why, but he was struggling to avoid betraying himself, the confusing feelings he had for the man at his side overwhelming. He'd come thinking that he was prepared for anything, but it turned out that when Spencer was involved, he was ready for absolutely nothing at all.

Spencer dropped the smile and stared, the look of solemnity on his face scaring Carlton a little.

"Just because you refuse to be honest with yourself is no reason to lie to _me_ , Lassie."

Carlton stared back, his eyes widening at the insight.

"I don't know what you mean,” he fibbed, getting hot under the collar and hating himself for it.

Silence hung in the air.

Shawn glared.

"I mean I see the way you look at me when you don't think anyone is paying attention," Spencer said, gaze softening after an agonizingly long moment.

Carlton raised his eyebrows, still trying to keep up the charade.

"With great distaste?"

Shawn laughed in response.

"Just the opposite. Like you want a little taste, or like maybe a little taste wasn't quite enough," he whispered, his words sending chills up Carlton’s spine. "Do you wanna taste me, Lassie?"

The cop coughed, trying to swallow and failing. He knew he shouldn't be surprised by the boldness of Spencer's statement, yet that’s exactly what he was. Surprised and aroused. He felt his heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, all of the blood in his body seeming to surge toward his groin upon hearing the psychic's words. And though he couldn't comprehend it, more than anything did he want a second round with this man.

 _This man,_  the one who aggravated him more than any other.

Carlton had fantasized about it. Multiple times.

He had pictured the moment over and over, their shared kiss replaying in his head like Memorex. His mind had picked up where reality had left off, creating its own deliciously dirty dreams about his clever co-worker. But, although actuality was certain to surpass his wildest expectations, he was unwilling to act if it meant having to admit his growing attraction for the charlatan in the seat next to his, burning desire be damned.

He just couldn't chance it, not when he didn't know what his own feelings were yet.

"Not answering isn't a no, Lassie," Shawn said, brazenly reaching past the steering wheel to unbuckle the detective, having finished un-strapping himself. Carlton just looked down dumbly, unable to stop him and unsure if he wanted to. "And you might be trying to deny your desire to strip me naked and have your naughty, naughty way with me..."

Spencer leaned over Carlton's lap, twisting to reach the lever to shift the driver's seat back, taking the SBPD's Head Detective by surprise. "But my psychic-ness will trump your B.S. every time."

"Wha – what are you doing, Spencer?" Lassiter asked, the answer quickly becoming evident when Shawn crawled into his lap.

"You might act like you hate me in public, Lassie," Shawn continued, placing a soft kiss against the side of Carlton's jaw, following with a second below his earlobe once he realized he hadn't been rebuffed. His arms wrapped around the cop’s neck, the feeling causing Carlton to tingle. "But I know you don’t feel that way when we’re in private. I have proof, in fact; a substantiated claim!"

"How do you know?"

Carlton's breath was husky as he inquired, his fingers tracing the other man's ribcage at his own behest. Blushing when he felt Shawn better settle into his lap to nip and kiss along the skin of his neck, he considered teasing at the sides of the plaid shirt the man wore only briefly, beside himself in agony over his need to touch the skin that lay just beneath and wondering where the hell the desire had come from.

How the hell they’d gotten to this point so fast.

"What proof? What claim do you have?" he asked, a white-knuckle grip on his armrest to stop himself, fingers gripped so tight he thought the bones might crack.

"This one." Shawn chuckled and nuzzled into the warm hollow of Carlton's throat. "I claim this lap in the name of Shawn Spencer!” he declared. “I shall call it New Spencer - no, Spencertopia!"

"Seriously?” Carlton shook his head in disbelief. “You are  _not_  naming my crotch, Spencer."

"We'll see about that."

Shawn smirked and, because he was a bastard, rolled his hips.

Carlton bit his lower lip, doing his best to resist reacting. But dear god was he -  _it_ \- hard.

"You haven't tossed me off or threatened to shoot me yet, so that has to mean something, right?” Spencer paused, that grin of his growing salacious as he ground down, an act Carlton found disconcerting. “Mind you, if you plan on tossing me off," Shawn continued, wiggling his eyebrows as lecherously as he wiggled his ass, "I'm all for it. If you've got a thing against exhibitionism, though, then I'm not sure your car is the best place -"

Carlton groaned, the needling and warm body atop his both getting to him.

"Shut up, Spencer," he ordered, teeth clenched so tightly it came out as a growl.

"Or what, Lassie?" Shawn challenged. Shawn loved to challenge and it was a thing Carlton both loved and hated about him. He ran a finger along Carlton’s jaw in response, the smug look on his face just  _begging_ to be wiped off. "No wall to throw me up against this time. Gonna have to get creative if you wanna manhandle me again."

Carlton laughed, watching as the man’s face grew inquisitive, the psychic clearly forgetting who he was dealing with.

"Spencer,” he said, wearing a wicked grin of his own, all sense of reason slipping from his grasp. “You forget that I’m professionally trained on how to manhandle people."

He slid his hand up the psychic's back and grabbed Shawn by the neck, feeling the fine hairs there stand on end as he pulled the man forward, bringing them face to face. Shawn shuddered. Carlton drank it in, smile almost animalistic, his eyes flashing like a hunter stalking its prey.

"And you barely qualify as people. Now shut your slutty little mouth before I do it for you.”

 

* * *

 

Shawn's heart skipped a beat and, caught in his throat, it dared him to continue his taunting.

Dared him to make Lassie make the threatened move.

God, he hoped Lassie made the move.

Watching as the detective’s gaze followed the motion, he licked his lips in nervous anticipation.

"What if I don’t want to?" he asked, bringing as much bravado into the statement as he could manage. Making it sound as bratty as he could manage, sure it would rile his favorite detective so. “What if I don’t believe you will? What if I think you’re just a big. fat. chicken?” he said, punctuating each word with a poke to the chest.

Something snapped; he could see it in Lassiter's eyes, and it made the knot in Shawn’s stomach - the one that had begun as a bundle of nerves - just _ache_ with arousal.

_It’s hot in here. Is it hot in here all of a sudden?_

The windows misted over, the heat from their bodies and barbs filling the car with fog, making Shawn feel like Kate Winslet in that crappy 90’s disaster movie – the one where she boned DiCaprio in a car on a not yet sinking boat. Too distracted by the detective beneath him to realize both Lassie’s ride and radio were off, he wouldn't be surprised if it’s theme started playing, or maybe Duran Duran’s Hungry Like the Wolf, both songs suiting the mood.

 _Yeah, that's more like it,_ he thought, his breath growing heavy as he held the cop’s gaze, refusing to be the one to break first _._

Lassie looked ready to devour him. Lassie looked ready to devour him and it made his blood _sizzle_ , the spark between them practically palpable.

"Cause I -"

Abandoning his inner turmoil long enough for his primal instinct to kick in, the cop came unglued, giving the psychic exactly what he wanted. He gripped Shawn by the hair, _hard_ , and Shawn whimpered, his body bowing forward, a mixture of pleasure and pain washing over him.

Breath raw and ragged, he moaned. Though his hair had always been a thing he’d cared about before, he was completely unbothered by Carlton royally fucking up his expertly styled 'do, the sensations along his scalp overriding any protest he may have made.

"I said shut it, Spencer,” Lassiter snarled, diving for Shawn's slightly trembling lips. “Do something useful with your mouth for once."

Shawn had maybe half a moment to think before they collided with a clash of teeth, connecting with a sense of careless abandon. He knew Lassie would be the one to break first, but never could he have imagined it would be like this, the man so dominant from such a submissive position. It made him almost want to weep, so overwhelmed and exhilarated was he.

Shawn was also surprised he still had the use of his hands and he intended to use them while he still had the chance. He pulled Carlton in by his tie and loosening it with quick fingers, he slipped it from the man’s shoulders and tossed it on the seat beside them so it wouldn’t get lost. One of his nicer ties, Lassie would be upset if it got lost. And while Shawn was dying for a spanking, he only really wanted one out of play, not rage. Sure it was safe and secure, he ground his hips in time with each sloppy kiss, doing his best to melt in to the man with clothes still on.

Constrained flesh rubbed together through far too much fabric, but that was okay when it caused the detective to press upon Shawn’s wanting mouth in response.

He moaned, his senses set to high power.

_More._

Shawn wanted more.

And he was willing to do literally anything to get it.

 

* * *

 

Carlton groaned.

Hadn't it just been days ago that he’d been castigating himself for what he assumed was an unhealthy infatuation? But how could something so bad feel _so good_?

The thought flitting about like an annoying mosquito on a hot summer’s day, he tried to get his brain back on track, but every time he attempted a train of coherent thought it would be disrupted by a sound or sensation that made his mind wander. Soon, he forgot that he had considered protesting at all, able to focus only on the pressure of his too tight pants against his straining erection and Shawn's fingers running through his chest hair while his body molded into his.

Suddenly, the psychic's prior comment about sternum bush made sense. It wasn't something  _women_  would prefer but very clearly something Spencer was fond of himself.

Amused at the revelation, Carlton chuckled and slowed a moment. Thoughts finally catching onto something of relevance, he tore his lips away - an act Shawn took as an invitation to breathe only briefly before latching his teeth onto one of Carlton’s earlobes instead, tugging and teasing him into oblivion.

 _My God, the man is a minx,_  he thought, distracted.

Heat raced through his veins, the psychic's marvelous mouth moving against him and drawing his attention away, and Carlton groaned again, the sound guttural and needy.

Spencer, pulling away at the sound, just smiled.

 

* * *

 

Shawn popped open the first few buttons on Lassiter's starch-white shirt, sliding his hand past the collar to play with the treasure he found inside. He loved how soft Lassie's chest hair was - loved that even though he was perpetually single, he still took good care of himself, almost as if it were a point of pride.

He loved how the dark strands swirled across the man's chest.

Loved how they whorled lightly around his nipple.

Loved the soft gasp he heard when he flicked said nipple gently.

But it was the look of satisfaction sketched across the man’s face he loved most, though.

Needing to touch as much as he possibly could, Shawn pressed himself in flush, trying to meld their flesh together by force. He tilted the cop's face to angle his own, lustily licking at Lassiter's lip as he reached for the recliner handle again, adjusting the seat to better slide down Carlton’s body, his lips latching onto the tender nubbin of flesh he knew would drive the man mad. Hop-skipping kisses down the detective's ribcage, headed towards his treasure trail, Shawn dragged his denim-clad erection across Lassie’s own.

Carlton groaned, his hands clutching tighter at the man atop him.

"God, Lassie," Shawn mumbled, mouth pressing against warm skin and mind wandering as he tried to figure out how he was going to remove the cop's many layers of clothing in such a confined space.

"If I knew you were gonna feel this good I would've done this years ago."

 

* * *

 

 _Fuck,_ Carlton thought, pleading with his brain to win the battle it fought against his body, the sensations sending shocks up his spine. _Fuck - this means something! You can't be doing this if it means something!_

A cold feeling settled over him, something disconcerting occurring as he realized that he may not have been playing the game that he thought he’d been. That the game probably didn’t exist at all.

The thought terrified him - it couldn't be real. No. No way.

He blanched, Shawn inches away from his zipper.

He wasn’t someone who had random make-out sessions in cars, Carlton realized. Nor was he gay – not that it was wrong if the other man was – but even if he was, he certainly wouldn’t be gay with _Spencer._

What the fuck was going on?

Oblivious to his thoughts, Shawn slid back to Carlton’s face, nipping at his ear. His hand rested on belt buckle and as his gaze searched for permission, he sensed Carlton’s growing panic as uncertainty and tried to reassure him with a quip and a smile, his thumb tracing the tent in Carlton's pants all the while.

"Next time we do this let's lose the car. The steering wheel is literally the third wheel in this date and I promise that I am _way_ more flexible than I've proven thus far."

Carlton froze.

 _Next time._   _He wants there to be a next time._

He felt himself fluster. Felt himself grow angry and confused. Threw his arm over his eyes as he tried to shut out reality.

Closed off the world as he worked to gather his thoughts.

_He wants there to be a next time. And-he-maybe-had-wanted-this-for-years._

Carlton couldn't breathe.

_He would have done it before. What does that mean?_

His throat burned as he tried to inhale what felt like thin reedy air.

_Did he get Lucinda transferred on purpose?_

Spencer stilled, hand resting on Carlton’s cock when he noticed the detective’s complexion pale.

"Lassie, are you okay?" he asked, voice low and a little worried.

Carlton swallowed, his throat constricting.

Wild panic shone in his eyes.

"No."

His voice stuck in his chest and it came out as a whisper, feelings flooding his senses as the realization hit him far too hard.

He was a detective. Why hadn't he detected this before?

"Spencer, get off," he said, struggling to sit up and failing, the psychic atop him stopping him.

"I, yeah – sure, I mean, I was trying -" Shawn said, confused.

He pulled away to acquiesce, but it wasn't fast enough.

"SPENCER, GET OFF!"

Carlton roared and, grasping him by the shoulder to push him back, his other hand searched for the handle that would send him lurching back into a sitting position.

Spencer hit the steering wheel.

"Lassie, what- ?" He rubbed the shoulder Carlton had grabbed, shock and pain flickering across his face.

"I can't do this with you," Carlton replied, his voice laced with a bitterness that took the psychic by surprise.

"Oh... okay. I get it. Wrong time, wrong place," Spencer said, adjusting his shirt. Although ultimately understanding, he still sounded disappointed.

His pulse beginning to slow, the detective breathed deep, chastising himself for getting into the situation in the first place.

He should have known better. He should have seen that Spencer had feelings. Should have realized this would always be more than a roll in the hay.

How could he have been so oblivious?

This had to stop.

It had to stop now.

For good.

"I can't do this with you ever."

Spencer’s head snapped up, the look on his face both startled and saddened, like he'd just found his dog lying dead in the street.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Carlton continued.

"I can't. I won't,” he said, eyes avoiding Shawn’s crestfallen face. “Not with you. Never with you."

 

* * *

 

Shawn was hurt. Really hurt.

He'd been half-expecting something like this to happen, but when it hadn't, he'd lowered his defenses, allowing himself to hope Lassiter felt the same way he did. He’d been overjoyed when Lassie had kissed him and it seemed that, for the first time ever, the person he wanted to get naked with was also a person he could trust.

Past Shawn had had the worst luck with relationships - not that he'd really had many, of course, a fact that could probably be attributed to his getting fucked then chucked more often than he could count (when he wasn't doing the fucking and chucking himself, that was) - and he’d thought that if anyone were going to help him break that destructive and depressing pattern, the dashing detective beneath him might've been the one.

Apparently, he’d thought wrong.

Shawn had known Lassiter’s wall was just as thick as his own, and he was also aware that integrity was high up on the detective’s list of favorite things, so upon seeing the cracks in its surface, he couldn't help but to poke and prod until the cop’s came crashing down. It had worked, worked _well_. Perhaps better than Shawn had expected. But though Lassie had been the one to initiate their sweet kisses both times, he was still obviously having trouble coming to terms with it and it made Shawn sad, the thing he wanted so dearly dangling in front of his face then being so viciously torn away.

It made him feel toyed with.

It made Lassie look cruel.

"Fuck you, too, Lassie!" Shawn spat, determined not to be taken advantage of and willing to give just as good as he got. "It's been me twice now, so you can't say shit."

It was surprising that Lassie hadn't given himself whiplash with how quickly he had changed his mind. Shawn knew the man had enjoyed himself as much as he had - the full-grown wood he was sporting acted as proof of that - and he was willing to bet dishes duty at the office for a week that the man was only freaking on him because he was scared.

It didn't mean he needed to be an asshole about it, though.

"Yeah, well it looks like you're not the only idiot in this car then, are you?” he said coldly. “Get off me and get out. I'm not doing this, Spencer. I'm done with you."

Shawn sneered at him in return, unable to let it go.

It was understandable, this behavior, but having once been the master of deflecting big ol' gay feelings himself, the psychic knew that it was only going to make things worse. He just wished that the Head Detective could understand that he was hurting himself more than he could ever hurt Shawn. And he was hurting Shawn plenty.

"Yeah, well I'm not done with _you_. I don't know why Mr. High-and-Mighty-Head-Detective has suddenly decided to turn into a coward, but that sounds like something you should investigate instead of just pinning the problem on _me_ ," he said, trying to reason with the man. "You're just freaking out because you like me."

The detective snapped, unable to deny the accusation.

"Talking shop isn’t a turn-on, Spencer. Get off me." 

"Nuh-uh," Shawn smirked, refusing to budge. "Deny it all you want, but I know the truth. You care about me."

Lassiter clenched his jaw.

"Get out of the car."

Shawn stuck his tongue out in return.

"Your heart hearts me!"

Lassiter snarled.

"Seriously, get out of the fucking car."

Snuggling closer instead, he wrapped his arms around Carlton's neck, delighting in pissing the other man off. Now that he knew he wasn't getting any more kissy-face, Shawn was more than happy to torment Lassie in other ways.

It was only fair, after all, being left hanging as he was.

Shawn wasn't exactly was overjoyed about having to take a step back, but he would do it. Not only was consent important to him, he knew that giving Lassiter the space he required would do exactly the opposite of what the detective hoped - the memory of this moment percolating as he stewed, his desire intensifying instead of weakening. Shawn had lived it himself, once upon a time, and he knew that nature would take its course, denial doing nothing to help Lassiter’s state of mind.

But! Just because he was willing to tone down the overt sexual advances long enough for Lassie to figure out his lusty feelings were going nowhere did _not_ mean that he was going to stop annoying his favorite officer of the law.

Though Carlton tried to pry him off, Shawn held on tight, deciding that he was going to define the terms of this relationship however he could, for as long as he could. Lassiter had never been the one in charge of their relationship, anyhow - he just didn't know it.

Shawn began to sing, determined to make the detective regret his jerkitude.

"Eeeeverybody loves somebody sometimes..." he crooned, low and melodramatic.

Mouth agape, Lassiter looked at him, too stunned to continue to struggle.

"Are you seriously singing Dean Martin at me right now?" he asked, flabbergasted.

His hands dropped to his sides. He stared.

Shawn smiled and continued, the look on the detective's face not only priceless but egging him on.

"Everybody falls in love someho-"

Throwing his hand over Shawn's mouth in an obvious attempt to stifle him, Lassiter snapped back into motion.

Shawn licked his palm, grinning wildly as Lassiter pulled it away in disgust.

"I will throw you off my lap if you don't get off me right now, Spencer," Lassie growled, glowering.

"Alright, alright" Shawn said, opening the driver’s side door to make his grand exit. "But if you just said it once aloud, I promise you'd feel free."

 

* * *

 

Carlton froze, Spencer's words echoing the thoughts that thundered through his head - thoughts he was trying his hardest to stifle.

"I. Love. Yooooooou," Shawn taunted, speaking slowly. “Try it with me, just one time.”

He shifted his jacket back onto his shoulder and looked Carlton dead in the eyes, repeating himself.

“I love you, man.”

The detective felt like he was going to vomit.

He couldn't deal with this right now. Couldn’t deal at all.

He felt himself begin to shake, thoughts and emotions conflicting and crashing into him over and over, like a wave about to drag him out to sea.

"I looooove you -"

_No._

_No._

_Nuh-uh._

And that was when Shawn found himself sprawled flat on his ass, the cold concrete beneath his spine cushioning him as the cop peeled off into the night, the car door slamming behind him.

Carlton knew he should feel guilty for abandoning his guest. Knew he should feel guilty about the abrupt violence. About the way the evening had begun, and even more so the way it had ended.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn't feel anything.

In fact, he barely heard Spencer call out after him, "Thanks for the ride home!", his ears buzzing as the adrenaline raced through his system.

All he felt was sick.

So, Carlton drove.

 


	2. Take On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter takes place during season 3 episode 6: There Might Be Blood  
> ** The accompanying song is Take On Me by a-ha
> 
> Shawn watches as Carlton overcompensates for what happened in the last chapter, finally understanding why he is so bothered by it. Stuck on a lunch-date he thought he wanted, Carlton realizes he's with the wrong person when he can't stop thinking of the resident psychic-consultant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mixtape's playlist, go [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0sVBPcpFqvIEbG4qlrxVZr); listen before, after, or during - the choice is yours, as long as you enjoy. New songs will be posted with the chapter they are attached to.

* * *

 

Shawn could not  _believe_  Lassie.

More importantly, he couldn’t believe how disappointed he was in the whole situation.

He could understand if Lassiter needed to lie to himself for a little while – perhaps pretend their tête-à-tête in the car hadn't occurred – but for him to be chasing someone else so soon afterwards just hurt. That it was Chief Vick's sister made it even more awkward, the fact that the detective was throwing himself in a heterosexual direction not only proof he was living deep in denial, but also just frikkin’  _weird_.

Completely unaware his attention was elsewhere, the Chief congratulated Shawn on his most recent case solved. "Well, I gotta say Mr. Spencer – nice work!"

 _What the hell is he doing?_ Shawn thought, too distracted by Santa Barbara's Finest making moon eyes to really hear her.

Juliet chose to ignore Lassiter’s antics, reading the heiress to the Bamford fortune her rights instead, but Shawn could tell that she also thought the senior detective was acting a damn fool. If only he could tear into Lassie for his ridiculous behavior, but he knew it would do no good, so resigned himself to the fact that Jules would likely to do it for him later, the woman obviously unimpressed with her partner’s unprofessionalism. Shawn just had to stop focusing on Lassiter, and he was trying, but damned if this didn’t make it harder than it had to be.

He also knew that his obsession with the man wasn’t healthy, but that didn’t seem to matter much. Not when he was forced to watch the cop throw himself at someone else so brazenly, like a kid with a crush that couldn’t be kept quiet.

It was just so unlike him, and it didn’t help that Shawn was crushing just as hard.

"Thanks, Chief..." he said, catching on to her silence as she awaited his response, his mind still reeling at the sight before him.

 _That woman is horrible!_  he thought. _She’s obstinate and arrogant and rude and what the hell is with the googly eyes?!_

He tore his gaze away from Lassiter to look at Gus instead, trying to focus his frustration elsewhere.

"No help to my table!"

* * *

 

 _This cannot be freaking happening_ , Shawn thought bitterly, biting his tongue _._

Motioning at his buddy to set the basket down, he took a step back, giving the newly reconciled sisters some room. It wasn’t that Shawn was being nice – he barely believed in personal space, after all – but that he hadn't yet found a way to excuse himself from the conversation, one of which he had absolutely no desire to hear.

It made him feel off, and his head started to swim, unable to believe he was stuck in such a horrible situation.

If only he could acquire shrinking powers or go temporarily deaf - something useful that could just get him the  _hell_  out of here.

Anything so he didn't have to listen to this.

"Ohhh, you don't wanna go there..." the Chief advised her sister.

 _Good ol’ Chief Vick!_  his inner voice began to babble, words bleeding together in his head as he shifted in place.  _Reliable Chief Vick! Awesomely amazingly wonderful Chief who doesn't even know she's helping jump-start-my-non-relationship-with-the-Head-Detective-she's-warning-her-sister-off-of, Chief Vick!_

"Really, why?" Barbara asked, cocking her head.

_It's days like this that I love Chief Vick!_

Shawn paused, feeling a little queasy.

 _Really?_ he asked himself.  _Am I **really**  this wound up over Lassie throwing his bone in a different direction?_ he mused, surprising himself with the thought.

While he'd enjoyed the smoochies he’d shared with the detective thus far, spectacular kisses didn’t tend to be enough to wind him up like a ten-cent tin soldier, and he struggled to understand where the feelings were coming from.

_What the hell is going on? Why would this be bothering me so-_

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

_Oh._

He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before.

_Oh, crap._

It should have been obvious.

He should have known.

_I think I'm starting to fall for the bastard._

Hysterical laughter began to burble up from inside, and he bit his tongue to stop himself, the insanity of the situation sobering him quickly.

"It's just he's a little... ummm... wound up,” Vick said, trying to respond as courteously as she could, the awkward question making it almost impossible. “And trust me, you're far better off pursuing somebody else."

_Ooh, cookies! Good distraction!_

Shawn reached for the box and Gus slapped at his hand. Shooting his pal a look, he snatched it back, reminding himself to retaliate later as the conversation between the siblings behind them turned heated.

"Y'know what, fine! Ask out Lassiter!" the Chief shouted at her sister.

"I will!" her sister shouted back.

"Go ahead!" the elder snapped.

Shawn just stood and stared, hoping to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in that the exact opposite would occur.

Furious, Dunlap stormed from the room, and to Shawn's dismay, ran directly into her prey. He stared out the window, his heart sinking like an anchor to the bottom of an unforgiving ocean, the look of delight on Lassie’s face leaving him feeling wrung out and hollow.

Leaving him feeling empty - save for the poisonous thoughts racing through his mind, of which there were plenty.

_Nope. Cookies are **not**  going to fix it. _

"You. Me. Lunch!" the Captain of the Coast Guard barked at the detective, who smiled and snapped to attention.

Shawn saw him salute, and it made him want to puke.

"Ay, ay!" Lassiter responded, and the psychic shuddered, unable and unwilling to accept this as reality.

There was just no way it could be.

 _Cookies aren't going to fix it at all_ , he thought, trying his best not to pout, knowing he needed to save face to keep clout.

"So, I guess the sibling rivalry is back on?" he asked, the comment a feeble attempt to mask the wreck inside his chest.

Inside, he wondered how his heart could still be beating.

How, when it hurt this much.

It just didn't make sense.

* * *

 

Carlton couldn’t believe Dunbar had appeared out of nowhere, ordering him to lunch with her. He wasn’t normally the subservient type, but her 'request' had played out in front of Spencer and he couldn’t let the opportunity for goading pass, the scene being set as if he’d staged it himself.

Honestly, he couldn't have planned it better if he tried. It was just a shame lunch had been such a damn disaster...

Barbara was loud.

She interrupted him.

She was overbearing.

Opinionated.

Obstinate.

Worst of all, she wouldn't stop trying to drag him into her stupid rivalry with her sister.

Carlton kept trying to change the topic, even hinted that as his employer, cattiness about the Chief was something he couldn’t condone, let alone participate in, but she had just ignored him, continuing to rant. Raised to be polite to a fault, he did his best to remain civil, smiling and nodding where he could, but part-way through the third unnecessarily embarrassing story, he’d caught himself tuning her out.

Tuning her out and thinking about a certain psychic instead.

 _At least **his**  babble is interesting,  _Carlton mused, head on his hand as he feigned interest in Dunbar’s story.

Barbara blathered on, oblivious to that fact that her companion couldn’t care less - that his mind was, in fact, thinking of something else entirely.

Some _one_  else _,_  entirely; Carlton completely unable to shake the thoughts, even though he tried.

They stuck in his mind as if super-glued there;

The way Spencer's lips curved when he smiled, spitting out another useless piece of 80's trivia.

The way he threw himself at the cop, like he didn't care he might get punched in the face for trying.

The glint in his eyes -  _those gorgeous hazel eyes of his_  - when he somehow one-upped the detective yet again.

During the Commander's stories, Carlton nodded in all the right places. He offered an affirmative statement when it was called for. He even made sure to smile. But really, he was elsewhere.

Doing  _other_  things.

He recalled the sharp bite of teeth against his flesh and how it made him feel.

The strands of silk slipping through his fingers, his fists in Spencer’s hair.

The soft stubble against his skin as the psychic’s mouth hop-skipped its way south.

Carlton knew he was flushed and he loosened his collar, slipping deeper into memories he had hoped to forget. His groin pulsed at the thought of the psychic in his lap and he hoped to hell the Commander couldn’t tell, shifting in his seat to adjust to the delicious discomfort as he crossed his fingers under the table.

He remembered the moment just before Spencer had put himself there - the moment when he could have stopped the man.

But he hadn’t.

He remembered the way his heart had pounded. How his thoughts had clouded. How quickly it had all occurred; the fact that the thing he wanted so badly but feared so intensely sat in his lap offering nirvana had nearly short-circuited his senses.

And Shawn had somehow known.

Had antagonized him into action, his magnificent mouth bypassing the detective's reticent brain entirely.

Spencer's lips had made him tingle.

Made him soar.

 _Fuck_ , he thought, snapping back to attention and shaking his head, an act Dunbar failed to notice, too wrapped up in herself and her stories to care. His breath grew heavy as he glanced around the break room, and he found himself happier with her inattentiveness than he had been to start, her willful ignorance a blessing in disguise. 

 _You're not supposed to be thinking about that!_  he scolded himself, trying to push the thoughts away.

But his memories were so strong he could almost scent Spencer in the air, transporting him back to his car against his will, his face pressed against the psychic's flesh as he inhaled desire both earthy and intoxicating. Trying to ground himself and failing, he could nearly feel Shawn's hands against his skin as they slid inside his shirt, fingers dancing through his chest hair while he whispered sweet nothings in Carlton's ear.

 _Dammit, Carlton!_ he thought, struggling to look the Commander in the face. 

It seemed the Head Detective had a problem he could no longer deny, hard as he might try.

He had a thing for Spencer. He had it  _bad._

_You're not supposed to be thinking like that **at all!** _

And there was not a damn thing to be done about it.

 


	3. That's All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter takes place during season 3 episode 7: Talk Derby To Me  
> ** The accompanying song is That's All by Genesis
> 
> Shawn antagonizes Lassie in multiple ways, reveling in the reactions he gets now that the detective knows he's entirely serious. Gus finds out about what's been going on between the two men, and Carlton overhears a conversation about him at an inopportune time and place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mixtape's playlist, go [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0sVBPcpFqvIEbG4qlrxVZr); listen before, after, or during - the choice is yours, as long as you enjoy. New songs will be posted with the chapter they are attached to.

* * *

"Spencer, what the hell are you doing up there?"

Shawn chuckled from his perch above the sales floor. Having been on high a while, he’d wondered how long Lassie had been staring at his ass before deciding to say something, betting it was much longer than the detective would be willing to admit.

Not that the detective would admit to staring at Shawn's butt anyhow, no matter how many times he’d been caught doing so.

Shawn grinned at the outburst.

"Right now, I'm putting my hand in my pocket sans thumb and pointing at an imaginary seagull," he said, pretending to be one of the store's many mannequins, proud of how well this recent bout of chicanery was messing with Lassiter.

There was nothing quite like seeing the usually controlled cop caught off guard, and because he now knew every lewd word Shawn spoke was also an honest one, the detective grew flustered that much faster; watching Lassie struggle to maintain his composure was the most adorable thing Shawn had seen since Jules had sent him that video of a Corgi in a Christmas sweater.

Though their relationship hadn’t taken off quite like Shawn had hoped, things had changed between the two men, and he loved the fact that he was getting under Lassiter's skin. Riling him up had somehow become more fun that it had been before, a thing he hadn’t thought possible.

 _Such a sweet shade of pink he turns,_ Shawn mused, eyes still trained on Lassie as the cop turned away. He was trying to act all calm and casual, but Shawn could have sworn Carlton’s gaze had lingered on his jean-clad crotch, though he tried and failed to hide it with a sneer.

Onto Lassie’s little games, he laughed again and continued;

"−but earlier I got a call from the Chief. She sounded serious. Third break-in of its kind in as many months... no leads."

"Chief told you that?" Lassiter asked, surprised.

"No, she did," Shawn replied, smacking the perky mannequin on the ass, knowing it would serve to frustrate Lassie further. "She looks like the Venus De Milo but she prefers to be called 'Traci with an i'!"

It worked; Lassiter scowled, his furrowed brow more beautiful than Shawn had remembered it being.

As a matter of fact, it might have just been the sexiest scowl Shawn had ever seen.

He couldn't wait to make him do it again.

* * *

  _Whoever had the idea to cram six people in a room clearly made for two deserves to get shot,_ Carlton thought glumly.

He had done his best to avoid it, so he had no idea how Spencer had weaseled his way in next to him - especially when one considered how many bodies they had managed to stuff in there. The odds were definitely _not_ in its favor, but then again, Shawn had proven that he was an odds-defying oddity many times before, so Carlton wasn't exactly sure why he hadn't known to expect it.

He really should have known better by now.

"It's cozy!" Spencer said, smirking. "Which means I'll need everyone's hands where I can see them. That means yours too, Chief."

Spencer wasn't accounting for his own hands of course. He played by his own rules, and _his_ hands were currently being used to brush against the back of Carlton's thigh.

It sent chills down his spine and caused a tingle to spread across his suddenly too warm skin.

 _Concentrating on **anything**  is going to be next to impossible. _Carlton thought, clenching his teeth in frustration as Spencer used the opportunity to press his broad chest against the cop's back, pretending to lean forward for a closer look.

Carlton looked down, crossing his arms over his chest to obscure his view of his growing erection.

They needed to get this over with before someone noticed his obvious state of distress.

Before _Spencer_ noticed his state of distress.

He growled, determined not to let Spencer get the best of him.

"Would you just play the tape?"

* * *

 "They can't be women. This kinda thing took some kinda muscle!" Gus proclaimed.

"It's a little shocking, isn't it? Not as shocking as this -" Shawn began.

Gus looked up from his textbook and glared at his best friend and the ugly shorts he wore.

"The fact that I, for some reason, am watching you shop for pants instead of properly studying for my exam?"

Shawn continued, ignoring the attempted guilt trip. "No!" he said, and Gus arched an eyebrow.

“What then?”

"I put my tongue in Lassie's mouth!" he exclaimed, sweeping his hands out into the standard 'Ta-Da' position and wiggling his fingers for effect.

Looking like he’d been hit by a train, Gus sputtered, not sure he'd heard right. "I'm sorry. You did what now?!"

"Tongue. Mouth. Mine! Lassie's!" Shawn smiled. He pulled his arms back down and held up two fingers instead. "Twice!"

Gus stared at Shawn in disbelief.

"You must be out your damn mind. No way he didn't hit you."

"Surprisingly, no. We wound up making out like horny teenagers," Shawn offered, shrugging. "That led to some moaning," he considered. "And some grinding."

Gus shook his head, textbook completely forgotten as Shawn continued.

"Not necessarily in that order, of course. It was like... well, not quite James Spader/Holly Hunter level sexy -"

"Shawn, I  _do not_  need to hear this!" Gus protested, ignoring the  _Crash_  reference. Shawn knew his friend would prefer not to have the image of he and Lassie in his head, but simply couldn't resist. It wasn’t _his_ fault Gus had been dumb enough to inquire, and Shawn wasn’t about to let the opportunity slide.

He really should have known better.

"You asked!" he replied, cocking a condescending eyebrow.

"I most certainly did not!" Gus protested, crossing his arms and glowering, holding out for five whole seconds before he took the bait.

"How did this even happen?" he sighed, defeated.

Shawn chuckled, the kind that meant he was sure his friend would regret asking the question.

"Do you really wanna know?"

"Probably not, no," Gus answered honestly, knowing it wouldn't do him any good.

"All I gotta say is I'm sweet on him. I think I have been for a while. Can you blame a guy?"

Shawn paused.

"You know what? Don't answer that."

Gus tsked in response.

"Again, I say, you must be out your damn mind."

"I'm gonna go for it," Shawn said decidedly, adjusting the waistband of the shorts he wore. "Even though he literally might kill me."

Concern suddenly etched across Gus’ face.

"What do you mean, Shawn? I thought you said it was consensual."

"It's a long story which I will one day that is not today tell you," Shawn replied breezily. "And it's shocking, but not as shocking as this..."

He ogled himself and the shorts in the mirror.

"These are thirty-ones and they're really pulling tight in here."

Gus just shook his head and went back to studying while Shawn continued.

"Make yourself useful, get me the thirty-twos!"

* * *

 Jules inviting herself over to discuss the case should have been perfect.

Shawn had been hoping to get some one-on-one time with her anyhow but had lacked the opportunity ‘til now, the Chief having agreed with his suggestion she go undercover. He'd foolishly forgotten about his own selfish desires when he’d said it, something he wasn’t often caught doing, and had been focused on the case and her success rather than his need for input on his less-than-stellar love life since.

Gus would say he was growing as a friend, that he should be proud of himself, and he supposed he was, not that it meant much.

His conversations with Juliet had always been valued, their discourse both easy and open; Juliet understanding that his silly demeanor didn’t diminish his intelligence, what he needed, or who he was. As Lassie's partner, she probably knew both he and Carlton better than anyone else, and he knew any advice she would give would be invaluable in more ways than one.

He just hoped that her advice just wasn’t "don't".

Shawn knew the conversation he wanted to have was going to be an awkward one, and so he had taken the time to pretty up the office with hopes that dinner and a bouquet would help temper the mood. His attraction to Lassie was going to look like it came out of nowhere, especially after he’d spent so much time flirting with her, but he wanted to show his appreciation nonetheless, and hoped she didn’t think she was being used to further his agenda, even though she kind of was.

He also hoped she’d take the news lightly, sure she knew his flirting was just a part of his personality. He had spent years blatantly casting his net wherever it would land, after all, hitting on professionals, criminals, and everyone in between - in fact, all you needed to get hit on by Shawn Spencer these days was a heartbeat and a nice butt. He had dropped so many one-liners during cases over the years that he’d lost count, not even sure he could count that high, and Jules had rolled her eyes at most of them, which meant that she _had_ to know he was only ever serious about those few who were serious about him, his bawdy banter as common as converting oxygen to carbon-dioxide.

Still, Shawn wanted to soften the blow; to let her know that she meant the world to him and that her input meant even more.

He'd had a speech prepared, another speech of greatness like the one he’d given about Gus back at the reunion, guaranteed to tug at her heartstrings. But he never got the chance to share.

As a matter of fact, they barely even talked at all.

Juliet had stormed in all 'Ms. Bossypants', wearing a zebra striped shirt and hoop earrings big enough to stick her ankles through, determined to have things her way and hell-bent on heading to what turned out to be a music video set.

He had tried to warn her, tried to salvage it.

Really, he had.

He just hated to see his favorite female detective embarrass herself, but like Cassandra in tales of old, his warnings were ignored, and she had stormed out to her doom.

It was just a damn shame.

* * *

 Lassie's smile made Shawn's knees weak.

It didn't even matter that the detective was mocking the younger man; the way his eyes lit up with glee made Shawn feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It made him wonder if the delightfully awkward feeling was mutual, and if so, curious as to how else he could ensure that look stayed on Lassie's face as long as possible.

Shawn picked up the mannequin arm, counting its fingers.

"One, two, three, four, five."

Lassiter, Vick and Gus looked at him, faces blank.

"Five, four. Four, five. I'm seeing four and I'm seeing five!” he continued. “Lassie, four and five?"

"Nine? The number nine!" Lassiter answered, flustered.

"No! Four times five?"

"Twenty?" Vick offered.

"Five and twenty. Five times twenty."

"A hundred!" she blurted, sure she was right.

"Minus four times four times five."

"Four times four times five?" Lassiter asked, his eyes narrowed in thought, a look the psychic loved.

Shawn pretended to ponder, using the mannequin arm as a replacement for his own.

Wearing his extra-thoughtful face, he exclaimed, "Skater number twenty! She's the one who dumped all this stuff!"

Which meant one down and three or four to go.

He knew Juliet was close and said as much, trying to buy her a little more time.

"Okay – Lassiter, let's get someone on the lookout for any more dumping sites around town," Vick said, turning to leave.

Before Lassie could turn to follow, Shawn began to stroke him with the mannequin arm, an inviting grin on his face and equally lecherous thought in his mind. As he expected, Lassiter glared back, then stormed away.

"We've gotta get to Zilkes and we've gotta check something out," he said to Gus, dropping the appendage in defeat and walking in the other direction.

"If you say pants, I'm gonna sock you in your Adam's Apple," his friend replied.

Shawn muttered, repeating the sentence under his breath as he trudged along the riverbed. Seeing the bridge in the distance, he sighed, not yet ready to crawl back to civilization. Civilization was just too tough these days, a place where he had to pretend his feelings didn’t exist, and he needed some insight before being ready to face reality again.

He needed to chat with his buddy.

Looking at his pal, he stopped, waiting for the other man to notice he wasn’t keeping up.

"What's the matter now, Shawn? I thought you wanted to get going," Gus asked, a frown on his face.

"I do... I just – can I ask you something first?"

* * *

 Carlton doubled back.

The Chief had asked him to clarify a detail while they were still there, and making his way towards the river, he saw the Wonder Twins standing beside a big bushy tree in the midst of what seemed to be an intense conversation.

Were it anyone else, Carlton would care enough not to interrupt, but as it was Spencer – a man who violated his own personal space all the damn time – he made his way forward, hidden by the shadow of the foliage, stopping only when he heard muffled noise turn into words.

"I just don't understand why you're putting yourself through this, Shawn. Why don't you go after someone who is willing?” Guster asked. “What happened with Abby?"

"Abby doesn't make me feel anything anymore, Gus! Besides, Lassie is willing. Trust me, he is very willing!" Spencer replied earnestly.

"Tossing you onto your ass on the pavement doesn't sound very willing to me."

Carlton gulped.

He'd changed his mind; he didn't want to be hearing this. He also couldn't believe they were having this conversation  _here_  of all places. They were feet away from an active crime scene! What were they thinking?!

"He's scared, Gus. He's only ever been on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and this is more like Full Throttle at Magic Mountain. Wouldn't you be terrified too?"

"If you came on to me?” the more sensible of the duo laughed. “You're damn straight, son!"

"You know I think your tractor is sexy, Gus, but it's Lassie's that turns me on," Spencer joked, his face turning serious as he continued. "I know it. He knows it. I know he knows it, and he knows I know he knows it! I just have to keep doing what I'm doing and he'll eventually come around," he insisted. “I’m sure of it.”

Trying to reposition himself behind a branch, Carlton shifted, a gust of wind ruffling the leaves around him.

"You think so?"

Spencer looked up into the sky and sighed, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

"I know so, Gus. You didn't see the way he looked at me."

"With great distaste?"

Shawn glared.

"Har, har! Why does everybody think that's so funny?"

Guster cocked his head. “Because it is?”

Shawn ignored him.

"He was scared,” he informed his friend. “Scared, but also super turned on."

"So?" Gus asked.

"So, he needs time to process, that’s all. That much is obvious. And you know what? I'm gonna give it to him," the psychic said. "But I'm also not going to stop reminding him that I want him just as bad. Or that I’m here for him when he finally realizes that he wants me back. That I’ll still be here waiting and wanting him when he's finally ready to act."

Spencer paused, sighing.

"I'm not going to give up on a chance at us. I just can’t."

"So, let me get this straight,” Guster began, pointing a finger at his friend. “You're the most impatient guy in the world - the dude who sometimes eats frozen waffles still frozen because the toaster takes too long - but you're willing to wait for a guy who might never be ready for you? Didn't you decide Juliet wasn't worth that? What makes Lassiter any different?"

Shawn ran his hand along the nape of his neck, watching the clouds drift by.

"Yeah, Gus. Pretty much," he admitted. "But he gives me all the feels, so I'd be stupid not to."

"I think you're stupid either way,” Guster said, casually mocking his pal. “But that's unimportant. What _is_ important is - does  _he_  know that?"

Spencer smirked, still staring at the sky.

"If he didn't before, he certainly does now."

The sunlight shone in his hazel eyes as he dropped his head and glanced over, looking the detective straight in the face.

_Fuck._

Carlton had been caught.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

"He's hiding in the bushes. He's been listening to us talk this whole time," Shawn smiled, waving at him as he spoke.

Gus' head whipped around so fast, the cop was surprised he hadn't hurt himself.

"Where?" he asked, eyes squinting as he searched. "I don't see him."

Carlton turned tail.

There was no force on God's green earth that could get him to stay now; Vick was going to have to get her answers some other way.

He ran.

* * *

Shawn was glad Jules was okay.

Even more so, that she wasn't dead in the back of a truck somewhere like Westwood had wound up.

Also, that she had nailed her bad guys.

 _Bad gals,_ he supposed.

He wondered if she'd talked to Lassie since and whether he had told her what he’d overheard at the dump site. Shawn doubted it. That would mean Lassie would have to come clean about their encounter – _encounters_ \- which seemed unlikely, what with Lassie taking a freakin’ _sponge-bath_  in the River of Denial.

Wanting to ensure they were still on good terms and having nothing better to do with his time, Shawn had waited at the rink for barely an hour before Juliet showed, hoping she would stop by to drop off her equipment after writing up her reports. Their dynamic had been shaken up by this case and he just couldn't bear the thought of leaving things as they’d been, unwilling and unable to chance losing the camaraderie they shared.

Jules was one of the few people he could trust with his life and he'd only recently realized how much he relied on having her around. He wanted - no, _needed -_ to make sure they still felt comfortable around one another, and since she was good on skates and he was the king of breaking his ass, he was more than happy to do so to help put her at ease. After all, she deserved a little light-heartedness right now, having been such a grueling case.

For her especially.

Besides, he couldn't remember the last time the two of them had just hung out.

Shawn teased her, having the DJ spin a love song and calling it a couple’s skate. When Jules smiled and drawled out his name in warning, he smiled back, his heart warming as he realized that things between them were going to be fine. She laced up her skates and made her way over and he wobbled, pretending to have done so on purpose, just glad they could still be silly every now and then.

As they skated, he poked at her fist. She chastised but didn't stop him from bumping the back of his hand against hers, a gesture full of affection.

He wasn’t great with words, not those kind anyway, and he hoped she interpreted the act correctly.

Hoped she knew how awesome she was.

That he would be lost without her, just like he would be without Gus.

 _I'll talk to her about Lassie another time,_  Shawn thought, knowing it was pertinent, but not as pertinent as this.

Because sometimes what _he_ wanted wasn’t the most important thing.

Sometimes fixing friendships had to come first.


	4. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter takes place after season 3 episode 8: Gus Walks Into A Bank  
> ** The accompanying song is Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper
> 
> Shawn convinces the gang to go to a karaoke bar to let off steam after dealing with a hostage situation in hopes of seducing Lassie. Carlton, catching on to what is up, tries to deal with his feelings by drinking them away, which leads to a surprising bathroom encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mixtape's playlist, go [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0sVBPcpFqvIEbG4qlrxVZr); listen before, after, or during - the choice is yours, as long as you enjoy. New songs will be posted with the chapter they are attached to.

* * *

Shawn and Juliet strolled silently along the boardwalk, their conversation having worn thin after an hour or so of non-stop gabbing. It was a comfortable silence, one Shawn was able to enjoy very rarely, with very few people. Glad the evening had turned out like it had, he smiled, looking over at the beautiful blonde beside him, all dolled up for her cancelled evening out.

He would be lying if he said he was sorry for sending Commander Cameron on a wild goose chase into the sewers, so instead he said nothing at all. Juliet could date the d-bag SWAT leader all she wanted if that was what made her happy, but the pseudo-psychic wasn't inclined to resign to maturity about the situation.

In Shawn's opinion, there was very little to like about the other man, and he wasn't about to hurt himself trying. Nor would he worry about how his bit of fun would affect his relationship with Juliet should she find out he was the reason her date had been cancelled. Jules was a big girl, Luntz had deserved what he had gotten, and Shawn had faith that he could deal with whatever happened.

Besides, there was just too much going on in his head to bother with any of that.

Though his night had taken a turn for the better, Shawn's day had been the _worst_. He appreciated that the situation had resolved itself the way it had - especially considering the alternative – but he needed to blow off some steam, nonetheless. It wasn't every day that his bestie was taken hostage, after all, and since the psychic had not only solved the case but managed to one-up Juliet's date in the process, he thought that he deserved a little satisfaction as his reward.

Just one night.

One night of debauchery and fun. That's all he wanted.

If only he could figure out how to make it happen.

"Let's go out," he said suddenly, an idea popping into his head.

"What? Go out where?" Juliet asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. "We are out."

"Let's go  _out_  out. Out to celebrate. We survived a hostage situation today, we deserve to party!"

"Okay," she said, and laughed at his enthusiasm. "It's a little more complicated than that, but sure. A night on the town could be fun. I look fabulous already," she shrugged, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, "and a drink would be nice after a day like today."

"Let's go grab Gus. And Buzz. And Lassie!" Shawn exclaimed, tugging at her hand like an impatient child. "Let's make Lassie come out and play!"

He hoped Jules would say yes.

That she would find a way to make the object of his affections agree to join them.

That without knowing it, she would somehow help him fix his lack of love life.

Up until today, Lassie had been ignoring Shawn, which didn't sit well with him. In fact, it irritated Shawn as much as  _he_  usually irritated the stodgy detective, which was to say, a LOT.

Today, however, had been different.

Today there had been a hostage situation and Lassie had been forced to interact with him.

To talk to him. To listen to him.

Had been forced to touch him.

Had had his hands  _all over_  Shawn.

Though the psychic wasn't sure whether the detective knew it, _he_  had been paying attention. Every moment of Lassie manhandling him was sinful torture; a torture he'd been thinking about all day. The feel of Lassiter's hands on his body – his forceful hands moving Shawn around like a ragdoll – had been the only thing keeping him grounded all day, worry over his best friend lessening whenever he felt the man's firm touch.

Glad she couldn't read his mind, Shawn looked at Juliet with giant puppy dog eyes, hoping they would help him achieve his goal. A broad grin spread across her face as she shook her head and laughed, walking back toward the Psych office to pick up her car.

"Sure. Let's go get Carlton -" she started.

Shawn grinned back, sure he was about to get his way now that he had her help. Once Jules got Lassie to agree to come play...

 _Well, then maybe_ _ **I'll**_ _get to come and play,_  he thought, crossing both fingers and toes as his grin grew wicked.

"- I can't wait to see how you're going to convince him!" she finished.

Shawn's face fell,

_Ahh, crap._

* * *

 

"It's not like I expect you to get up there and head-bang to Kickstart Your Heart or anything," Shawn cajoled, standing on Lassiter's doorstep.

Waiting patiently near the vehicle, his pals watched his attempt to work some magic. McNab was going to meet them there with wife in tow, so he and Gus had carpooled with Juliet, neither wanting to drive.

He had failed in getting Gus to bring the Blueberry; his best friend wanting to drink his face off for once, he was too paranoid to leave his company car at the bar overnight. Shawn couldn't begrudge him that, the man deserving to do whatever the hell he wanted after the day he'd had. Besides, should he agree to join them, driving together also meant driving with Lassie, which gave Shawn the perfect opportunity to play footsies with the detective in the back seat. So really, it was lucky that Gus had insisted he ride with the group for once.

Having no problem leaving  _her_  vehicle all evening, Jules had agreed to drive them there, but only after pointing out that cabs were not only a thing, but a thing they'd all need to take home anyhow, and Shawn had laughed so hard at Gus' reaction that he'd nearly fallen off his chair.

After a brief discussion on how best to convince Lassiter, they concluded they'd have better luck if they just showed up on his doorstep, so headed out to get him. Not only would it make them harder to get rid of than hanging up the phone would, it being Shawn's idea meant that they could and would leave the actual convincing up to him.

How'd he get to be so lucky?

And that was where they were now, Shawn doing his best to convince the stubborn cop to leave his house.

"C'mon, Lassiekins... just for drinks. Come celebrate. I know you know the meaning of the word, you party animal, you!"

He grinned his patented megawatt grin at the hesitant detective, knowing it had won him over in the past.

And also, Shawn was already a little tipsy.

He'd needed to calm his nerves, and because they'd had to wait a while for Gus to arrive, Shawn had rooted through the cupboards for the bottle of pineapple flavored special-occasion schnapps he knew they'd stashed somewhere. Far too excited about the potential the evening held, he was thirsting for a pregame shot or three, and said nothing when Juliet shot him an inquiring glance.

It wasn't every day he tried to seduce Lassiter, after all.

Well, not  _intentionally_ , anyhow.

Waiting less and less patiently, Shawn wished he had brought the bottle with him, feeling the need for a bit more liquid courage now. He didn't know what it was about the dour detective that set him on edge, but the lack of answer was causing his nerves to get the best of him.

Almost desperate in his desire for Lassie to say yes, he bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation, a shiver racing up his spine.

Lassiter scowled at him as he waffled, running a hand through his graying hair while he thought, and Shawn wondered how responsible he was for its occurrence, shortly thereafter deciding that he didn't really care.

"Pleeeeeeease?" he begged, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. "It won't be nearly as much fun without you." He stared at Lassie, trying to decipher something -  _anything_  - in the detective's hard blue gaze, hoping –  _praying_  – he'd for some reason say yes.

The older man sighed, his contemplation over.

"I don't know why I'm allowing myself to be dragged into what I'm  _sure_  will be a night of drunken debauchery−"

Shawn couldn't believe his ears. No way did he ever think Lassie was going to agree. Especially not after having spent all day together, working much closer than usual in their attempt to undercut the SWAT team.

"−but fine," the detective finished. "I assume I'm supposed to ride with you?"

Unable to comprehend what he'd just heard, the psychic continued to babble, brain disconnected from his mouth. "Jules is even here to be our adult supervision since she's the grown-up in the group and did you just say  _okay_?"

Carlton nodded reluctantly.

"You said okay? Really?" Shawn's jaw dropped in surprise. "You agreed? Awesome! That's great!"

The cop raised an eyebrow, which Shawn ignored as he turned towards the car.

"Guys!" he called out a little too enthusiastically, placing his hand on Lassiter's shoulder. "He agreed! Lassie's not allergic to fun after all!"

Lassiter scowled again and looked at Shawn's hand intently.

"Just don't make me regret this, Spencer," the cop said, grabbing his keys and locking the door behind him.

Shawn batted his lashes at the detective, a slow, languid smile creeping across his face as he linked arms with the reluctant man.

"Who, me?" he blinked. "Never!"

* * *

 

Staring at the shot in front of him, Carlton sighed; doing his best to avoid the stress he felt beating down upon him, he tossed it back, the tequila hitting his tonsils as the rest of the table shouted "Kanpai!".

He relished the burn, and his glass hit the table while the others cheered and jeered over who could finish their shot first, his companions making a race out of getting wasted. Carlton, however, was eyeing the tequila awaiting their resident charlatan's return. Needing its help to numb the  _whatever-the-fuck_  he was feeling, he contemplated snagging it for himself, figuring that if Shawn was bothered by it, well… he could just suck it.

No - wait.

Taking a page out of the psychic's playbook was a bad idea. If Spencer didn't like it, he would just order the man another, the much safer of two options.

It wouldn't even be a problem if the man were actually there drinking his drink, mind you. But he wasn't. To Carlton's chagrin, Spencer was onstage singing. Singing and shaking his  _thang_. The cop had vehemently protested the psychic's use of the word, of course, but had quickly learned that any distaste shown would simply fuel the other man's fire. So instead, he sat there with his mouth closed, hoping to avoid catastrophe.

As if he wasn't already embarrassed enough.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, reaching over to pilfer the drink and slamming it back as fast as he had the first, grimacing when the tequila hit the back of his throat.

_Dammit Spencer! Why must you drive me to drink?_

The psychic had insisted on going somewhere  _other_  than Tom Blair's Pub for once - not that Carlton found himself in the same bar as the consultant often anyhow - so although he had been in the establishment for a few hours by that point, he didn't  _actually_  know where he was. Too distracted by the man's attempt to get a piggyback inside, he hadn't bothered to look at the marquee as they'd walked through the door. He'd also done his best to stay rooted in place since, assuming that staying stagnant was less likely to get him into trouble; trouble bouncing around the bar like a suped-up pinball in the form of a pseudo-psychic.

Carlton had no idea what had possessed Spencer to try mounting him like a stallion, but he suspected the man had started drinking before arriving on his doorstep, which meant that  _he_  needed to catch up just to cope. It was, perhaps, not the greatest idea, the liquor forcing his defenses to lower, but because he didn't want to be a spoil-sport and put a damper on the evening, Carlton didn't know what else to do.

So, he drank.

And drank.

While it was true he was known for having a taste for a good liquor, he didn't normally guzzle this much  _or_  this fast and had lost track of how much he'd had since his arrival. Spencer was mostly at fault, having bribed the karaoke host into letting him sing more than his fair share. Unfortunately for Carlton, every one of his performances had been not-so-subtly dedicated to the intoxicated detective, and it made him want to hide, his ears burning with humiliation. He nearly died each time the psychic took the stage - every performance growing increasingly more provocative until he sat there watching Spencer gyrate, crooning the Divinyl's "I Touch Myself" while rolling his hips and licking his lips in Carlton's general direction.

It left the cop mortified.

He hated Spencer in that moment, not only for being a public embarrassment, but more so for the way in which he chose to do so. Carlton was seething so badly he was surprised his head hadn't exploded. But, no matter how he might try, he couldn't deny his body's responses to Shawn's antics, his desire to throttle the man in no way negating the fact that he was turned on, hard as a rock, and unable to hide it.

He hoped no one asked about his shallow breathing because he had no suitable explanation to give. The flush on his cheeks could be explained away to intoxication, but everything else? If anybody noticed, he'd be screwed.

All the while, Spencer grinned lasciviously from the small stage, looking like he knew  _exactly_  what he was doing to the detective.

"I want you. I don't want anybody else, and when I think about you, I – ah – touch myself!" he sang, grabbing his crotch and thrusting.

Carlton had to get out of there. Had to remove himself from the room before Shawn got the stupid idea to give him a freaking lap-dance or something. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts, and another to compose himself, neither an easy task in a bar as crowded as this mystery spot.

Spencer only needed half an excuse to molest him these days and seemed half a step away from doing so now, so his escape had to be imminent.

Carlton couldn't let it happen here.

Couldn't let it happen at all.

He needed to clear his head.

Needed to breathe.

To try to get rid of his ever-growing erection.

He glanced at the rest of his table, thankful they were engrossed in the mockery the psychic was making of himself, and determining his departure was unlikely to be noticed, slipped off his chair and slunk away, his face burning as bright as his ears had been.

* * *

 

Shawn saw Lassie straighten the jacket he knew covered the man's holster, finding it insanely sexy the detective didn't go anywhere without his pistol and glad that it seemed to be his only competition for the man's affections these days. As for any human candidates… well, he'd kept a straight face when he was told, but Shawn had been delighted to hear that Lassie's lunch date with Barbara had gone belly-up.

Though not as delighted as he'd been when Lassie manhandled him away from Luntz today, then forgotten to let go.

Channeling his inner-stripper, Shawn ran a hand down his stomach as he sang and accompanied it with what passed as a body-roll, achieving his intent of riling the crowd up. His big finish approaching, he swung his leg across the mic-stand and thrust against it lewdly as he watched Lassiter walk away; the rest of the group too enthralled by his riding the mic-stand like a pony to notice the detective's disappearance. As he finished his performance and hopped off the stage, Shawn bowed a flamboyant bow, at which the crowd cracked up, cheering him on.

The applause was a music that set fire to his soul, and he beamed ear to ear, walking towards the table and blowing kisses at his imaginary fans while smiling at his friends.

"Ah, my adoring groupies! How- _ever_  did you live without me?" he teased, approaching.

"Careful there, Shawn. Your inner attention whore is showing," Juliet mock-admonished, while Gus laughed and replied -

"Easy! It was the best and shortest four minutes of my life!'

Shawn chuckled. Gus said that, but he wasn't sure how his buddy even survived  _college_  without him, let alone the last three songs he'd sung.

"Another round of shots says I!" he proclaimed, looking for their waitress, only to find her stepping out for what he assumed was a quick cigarette.

It was okay, though. Shawn didn't mind having to wait. Not on a night like this.

A glance around the table showed his friends in various stages of inebriation; Gus was smiling his big goofy grin at Jules, who in turn was extolling the virtues of the citrus wedges she had bogarted while keeping an eye on McNab. McNab had two straws in his mouth and was pretending to be a walrus for his wife, and Shawn laughed at the sight, not even a little worried about keeping his companions entertained.

"I'm just gonna−" he said, pointing to the bar and Gus nodded at him.

Shawn flashed the two-fingered peace sign as he walked away, happy he could focus on other, more important things instead.

Things like where Lassie had gone off to.

Alone.

Shawn grinned, a wicked thought in his mind.

* * *

 

Carlton's head was swimming.

Since his entrance into the men's room, two others had already come and gone, having paid no attention to the man hunched over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Carlton felt the blood warm in his veins as it thrummed along to the crappy music thumping through the thin walls and wished he could've locked the bathroom door, but its lack of one made that an impossibility. If only he could shut out the world for a little while, a thing he also found impossible with that  _damned_  door constantly swinging open.

 _Fucking Spencer,_  he thought, splashing cold water on his face. It was  _always_  Spencer - Spencer who knew how to push not one, but  _all_  of his buttons.

Knew how to get him going. Rile him up.

Something that seemed to be his favorite activity in the whole wide world.

_Lucky fucking me._

Carlton had been questioning why he'd agreed to join him the whole time he'd been rooted in place. He'd known something like this was bound to happen, yet against his better judgment, had accepted the offer anyhow.

What an idiot he was.

But…

Spencer had looked so needy.

And because Carlton knew it had been an intense day all around, he had acquiesced, already pondering the idea of a drink and surprised by the extent to which the hostage situation had affected them both.

Look where  _that_  had gotten him - he was hiding in a bar bathroom, for Christ-sakes!

What kind of man was he, that he couldn't control himself around such depraved displays?

It was just...

Whether he liked it or not, Spencer had  _always_  been physical with him. From the day they'd first met, he'd lacked a filter for his mouth and had propositioned the cop almost daily, something that had just gotten worse as the years had gone by. Still, Carlton had found himself surprised when the psychic first hit the stage, belting out the unlikely choice of  _Sex and Candy_ , staring at him lecherously as he sang.

This, the fraud had followed with a feisty rendition of Peter Gabriel's  _Sledgehammer_  a mere twenty minutes later, complete with unnecessarily melodramatic masturbatory motions.

Barely half an hour after that, Spencer had decided to embarrass them both a third time with Olivia Newton-John's desire to get  _Physical_. Carlton shut his eyes to block out his memory of the motions attached to that one, learning Spencer really  _hadn't_  been lying about his acclaimed flexibility.

 _What in the blue_ _ **hell**_ _made me think this was a good idea?_  he thought again, his brow furrowed.

Carlton was too worked up for his own good. He knew he needed to gain control over himself - something that was proving to be far more difficult than expected - but he had no idea how that was supposed to happen when Shawn was practically prostrating himself for all the world to see. Dealing with the psychic's advances on a normal day was already tough enough as it was without the additional stress his current behavior was causing and having spent the afternoon  _not_  resenting Spencer's involvement in a case for once – hell, even appreciating it – Carlton was left more confused than he'd ever been.

He wanted Spencer. But he didn't  _want_  to want Spencer.

He would never tell the man, of course - not that it seemed to matter. And the fact that Shawn was so obviously into him could be seen as an incredible compliment, the sheer hedonism of his pursuit sending all the right feelings to all the right places. But at the same time, he wanted to smother the psychic into silence, his incendiary actions causing Carlton to live in a state of fear. As much as the idea of Spencer  _really_  doing the things he sang about made the cop tingle, he was more than distressed to find himself being dragged into another situation that he didn't have the wherewithal to deal with.

Lost in his thoughts, Carlton almost didn't hear the creak of the door, and having maintained awareness of his surroundings only out of habit, he glanced up after a moment, aghast to find himself face to face with the last person on the planet he wanted to be trapped in the tiny two-stall bathroom with.

"Lassieface! Everything okay?"

Carlton groaned.

"You've been gone awhile," Spencer said, finding the detective leaning against the sink and looking pale. He put a hand on Carlton's shoulder and looked around to see they were alone. "I was about to grab more shots. Wanna come with?"

"I don't need more shots, Spencer. I need to go  _home_ ," Carlton snapped, turning to shove the man's hand away. "I shouldn't have come here and I'm sure as hell not about to go anywhere else with you. This was a mistake."

"Whoa! Why the sudden hostility, buddy? We're all just out to have a good time tonight!"

"I'm not your buddy. And I know exactly what kind of a good time you mean, Spencer," he objected, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. "You're just trying to get in my pants!"

At his words, Spencer looked down at Carlton's pants rather pointedly, and Carlton blushed, realizing he'd accidentally drawn attention to his throbbing erection and had thereby lost the excuse of lacking interest.

"You don't seem entirely opposed to the idea," Shawn shrugged, stepping closer with a smile scrawled across his face.

The cop glowered.

"I've been drinking. Just because my libido is less inhibited doesn't mean I'm compelled to do anything about it," he replied with a scowl, aware he was a hairsbreadth away from doing something stupid and doing everything in his power to stop himself.

The psychic licked his lips.

" _I_  could do something about it, if you'd like," he offered lightly, and reached towards Carlton to find his wrist caught in a tight grip.

"Why? Why do you keep doing this?" Carlton implored, torn with indecision as he held the man's hand in place. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

_It would be so easy..._

Spencer leaned in to whisper in the detective's ear.

"Why don't you interrogate me?" he purred, pressing his body into Carlton's. "Just put the screws to me and see if I break? You know you want to."

Carlton wasn't supposed to want to, but he did.

More than anything he'd ever wanted before.

That was the problem.

Frustrated at his lack of willpower, he snarled. He needed to be stronger than this!

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he dropped Spencer's wrist, flinging it and its owner back toward the wall. Shawn stumbled, his arm hitting the garbage can beneath the paper-towel dispenser, and Carlton did his best to ignore both the pained look the psychic shot him and the feeling of guilt that came with it.

"Fuck you, Spencer. I don't need your shit. If you're not going to be serious, I'm out of here," he spat, focusing on his frustration instead.

"I am being serious." Spencer rubbed at his wrist, a look of mild consternation flashing across his face before his hand dropped to his side. "I can't get you out of my head, Lassie; it's not a choice. You're addicting - it's like you're like my favorite flavor of creme-sicle and I can't get enough."

Spencer stepped forward.

Instinctively, Carlton took a step back.

"I've got a real bad sweet tooth, Lassie," Spencer breathed, voice husky as he cornered the cop. "I just wanna take a lick."

Carlton felt the color rise to his cheeks. He knew his face was ruddy with embarrassment and he made to step towards the exit, needing to bolt before he lost the sliver of self-control he still possessed.

Spencer intercepted him, pushing him up against the door.

"What are you doing?" the cop asked, bewildered.

"I thought Gus was going to die today," the man started.

Expecting the psychic to crack wise as per usual and unprepared for the response, the cop blinked slowly. Rarely displaying sincerity when other options were abound, Spencer was never serious if he could avoid it. Shawn's usual modus operandi was flirtatiousness laced with ridiculousness and Carlton was taken aback by the gravity of the situation, the look of solemnity on the psychic's face and ardent urgency in the man's voice leaving him shook.

Overwhelmed, he dropped his gaze as the psychic continued.

"I couldn't believe how terrified I was."

"What does this have to do with why I'm up against the door?" Carlton mumbled, eyes shifting to Shawn's face.

Shawn smiled, his eyes a little sad.

"When things got as hairy as they did at the end there..." he explained, trailing off. "It made me realize that Gus was right."

"Guster was -?"

Shawn nodded and cocked his head slightly, like he was searching Carlton's face for a reaction to his words.

"Life is fleeting," he said. "And I need to live it."

He reached out and ran his fingers along the detective's jaw, his feather-light touch causing Carlton to shiver.

"I need to say the things I'm feeling..."

Spencer's hand brushed through the soft strands of salt and pepper at the cop's temple.

"...and act on those feelings before it's too late."

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, pelvis pressed against pelvis, and Carlton shuddered, feeling Shawn's excitement match his own. His body flush and skin singing, the detective knew what they were doing was a bad idea.

But he struggled to remember why.

"Lassie," Shawn muttered.

"What?" he responded flatly.

Shawn smiled, and Carlton's breath caught in his throat.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

The cop swallowed, seeing the determined look in his companion's gaze.

"Don't you dare try to stop me."


	5. Tell It To My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter takes place after season 3 episode 8: Gus Walks Into A Bank  
> ** The accompanying songs are Tell It to My Heart by Taylor Dayne
> 
> Lassie gets distracted when Shawn gets what he wants. An interruption sends someone spiraling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mixtape's playlist, go [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0sVBPcpFqvIEbG4qlrxVZr); listen before, after, or during - the choice is yours, as long as you enjoy. New songs will be posted with the chapter they are attached to.

* * *

 

Carlton froze, thoughts of rebuffing Spencer racing through his mind so fast he couldn't be sure they'd been there at all. But having never experienced sensation so intensely in his life, he gave in, desperate to capture the feeling and urging the psychic to explore freely, his moans muffled by the other man's mouth.

Every lick, every nibble, every brush of Spencer's hand against his skin.

It was overwhelming; intoxicating.

Carlton shivered, unable to tell whether Spencer's touch or the effects of the alcohol were to blame. It didn't really matter though - not when his skin sizzled where the man caressed. Not when his heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest.

It scared the ever-loving crap out of him.

"Wait. Wait, stop -" he panted, breaking away and trying to collect himself. "We can't do this."

"Why not?" Spencer whispered, pressing a kiss against the cop's jaw before taking a step back, a small frown upon his face.

Carlton batted him away as he attempted another, hissing, "We're in a bar bathroom with our colleagues less than fifty feet from us for fucks sake!"

"Note how you didn't say because you don't want to," Shawn taunted, cocking a mocking eyebrow as he continued. "You're growing, Lassie; I'm so proud of you!"

Carlton scowled.

"Just consider it an adventure – nobody's coming in with your back against the door," the psychic said, sliding close enough that Carlton felt the heat radiate off him, rendering the detective temporarily brain-dead. Shawn continued with a chuckle. "You know you wanna..."

The sound brought the cop back into his body and Carlton's brow furrowed harder, as if it's depth could strengthen his denial.

"I just wanna make you feel good, Lassie," Spencer said, smirking as he looked Carlton in the eye, wrapping his hand around the man's neck. It created a vulnerable moment the cop wasn't sure he was comfortable with, and a chill of exhilaration rushed up his spine. "What's gonna make you feel good right now?"

"Leaving," Carlton replied, trying to keep his expression grim and failing, tiny shocks sending signals to his already confused brain.

Carlton didn't want to go. It was the last think he wanted to do, as a matter of fact.

Which was  _exactly_  why he should do it.

"Good night, Spencer."

The psychic laughed again, louder this time, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Well, that's just silly and also not going to happen," he said, smug.

Carlton sighed, his head dropping slightly.  _This night is never going to end._

"Why don't you worry about yourself for once instead of worrying about what others think, Lassiepants?" the psychic continued, taking him off guard, nosy little bastard that he was.

Head snapping up at the inquiry, he looked at the younger man, a question in his eyes as he began to contemplate;

Horrible nickname aside, why _didn't_ he worry about himself instead of what others thought? Aggravating though he was, he hated to admit that Spencer might be on to something.

Carlton had experienced what he had thought was a fairly eventful life thus far. But upon hearing Spencer's words, he realized that he couldn't honestly say he'd been in control for any of it. Spending the entirety of his existence worrying about what everybody else thought, he had done what everyone else felt best for him. Which, he supposed, wasn't living so much as it was simply  _existing_. And it was only since meeting the man in front of him that he realized the enormous difference between the two.

He'd always been a problem solver and proud of that fact, but if ever he'd had the opportunity to follow someone else's direction, Carlton was there, letting them make the big decisions instead of stepping in to take control himself - first his mother, then his ex-wife. It hit him then, that it was possible he had been holding on to Victoria so tightly not out of love, but out of fear.

But… what would he be without someone there to guide him?

To tell him what to do; what he  _should_  do?

Who he should be?

Without that, who was he?

And what of this man in front of him, taunting him with traces of the truth?

 _This_  man, offering of himself in a way that no one had ever offered Carlton before?

Would one night of unbridled passion really ruin everything?

His brain told him yes while his body screamed no, his senses practically begging him to let go and give into feeling instead. Had he not earned the right to turn his brain off and enjoy the evening, come what may?

Even if what may was  _him_?

Body pressed against body, Spencer held him down, looking like he relished the rare chance to switch roles. Clearly oblivious to the thoughts racing through his mind, the psychic stared into Carlton's eyes, hazel orbs pinning him in place, hands against the wall on either side of the detective's head to cage him in.

Carlton's breath quickened, and he felt Spencer's heart beat against his own, picking up pace.

"You need this. When's the last time you had anyone take control of your desires, Carlton?"

_Carlton._

He swallowed.

Spencer had said his name – Spencer  _never_  used his name. The man had a dozen pet names for him, but very rarely did he use the cop's given one. It sobered him a little, forcing him to realize that the answer to Shawn's question was probably 'never.'

"So again, I ask," the fake started, lifting Carlton's chin so they were face-to-face. The brush of the psychic's lips against his own left him light-headed. Whatever blood not already pooled in his groin surging there, he shivered with nervous anticipation, the warm breath of the other man ghosting across his skin and turning it to gooseflesh.

"What's gonna make you feel good right now, Lass?"

Time stood still as Carlton imagined what he wanted to do.

What he wanted the other man to do to him.

He saw a world where Spencer showed off  _exactly_  how useful that mouth of his was; one with a lock on the bathroom door. A world with no consequences, or one where he felt free enough to act out his deepest desires, no hiding in a bathroom required.

He felt himself flush as he pictured their sweat slicked skin pressed together in the most dangerous of ways. It would never happen here, but his body ached with the possibility that it could.

That this wasn't the first time he had considered it.

His hand shook.

Unable to meet Spencer's inquisitive gaze, he ran his thumb along the man's lower lip, the faint blush spreading from his ears to his face. Shawn caught the appendage in his teeth and drew it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip as he applied gentle suction, unconsciously mimicking the actions his imaginary-self had just performed.

_Oh God._

Carlton wanted Shawn so bad it hurt.

He had never needed anything more.

And in that moment, he didn't give a damn about the repercussions.

"Get on your knees, Spencer," the detective breathed, steadying himself as he said words he swore he'd never.

Shawn grinned.

Carlton couldn't believe he was doing this, but he thrust his hand though the psychic's hair anyhow. Smiling a determined smile, he cupped Shawn by the back of the head to guide him.

"Do it now."

* * *

It was beyond anything Shawn could have ever imagined.

Even better, Lassiter had demanded it! That had to mean something, right?

Amazed at the turn their night had taken, Shawn was willing to do pretty much  _anything_  Lassie asked for at this point, so long as it meant keeping the man here.

With him.

Preferably in various stages of naked.

So, he wasn't going to waste any more time thinking about it, he decided, knowing it could twist in his mind forever if he let it. It was what it was, and he latched onto Lassie's words -

_Get on your knees, Spencer._

words that made his head spin and heart beat and blood pound;

_Do it now._

words that made him feel like a virginal schoolboy about to suck his first cock in the back of some vintage Camaro;

_Get on your knees, Spencer._

and he shivered, the thrill of acceptance even better than the thrill of the chase.

_Do it now._

"Yes, sir," Shawn said, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Unbuckling Lassiter's pants, he kissed the detective slowly, sensually,  _sexually_  before breaking away to oblige and lowering himself to the tiled floor. His heart skipped a beat upon freeing the man from his polyester prison, and eager to get down to business and wanting to show Lassie exactly how wonderful his world could be before changed his mind, Shawn licked his lips, reveling in the anticipation and struggling to believe his luck.

True, it had been awhile since he had last nob-gobbled, but that didn't matter much to Shawn, certain enthusiasm would make up for any skill he lacked. Though he briefly wondered if his gag-reflex was going to be a problem, it wasn't long before he remembered the fist-clench trick he used to suppress it with back in his deep-throating days of ol', chortling at the memory when he did.

He'd had to do  _something_  other than Gus's sister while Gus was away at college, after all.

Lassie cleared his throat, bringing the psychic back to the task at hand, something Shawn never thought he'd see, let alone experience. And now that it  _was_  in hand, he could only stare, his fingers finally wrapped around Carlton's slightly curved and absolutely delicious-looking cock.

Enraptured by the idea of what was to come and having imagined this moment increasingly often over the past few months, Shawn was curious as to what the man would taste like.

Dying to know how Lassie would feel at the back of his throat.

The texture of Lassiter's skin against his tongue.

The look the cop would wear when he was finally pushed over the edge.

Shawn was nearly beside himself in his need to find out. But he also needed to be certain Lassie was on board,  _really_  on board, and so he paused, looking up. They had both been drinking, after all, and no matter how badly he wanted this, it wasn't going to happen if he wasn't certain.

"Lassie, you're sure you want me to do this? You don't have to if you don't -"

Lassiter interrupted him with an exasperated groan.

"I'm still waiting for you to prove you can do something useful with your mouth, Spencer."

Shawn smiled wider as the cop continued, rolling his eyes.

"Just suck my cock already, would you?"

* * *

Carlton felt like he was drowning in sensation.

He was drunk on it; the world surreal, his heart pounded in his chest to the beat of the muted music, the cold steel of the door handle pressing against his spine, the intensity in his groin growing as the charlatan moved his mouth with expert technique. The warm, wet feeling of Spencer's throat constricting around him drove Carlton mad and he thrust his hands into Shawn's hair so he wouldn't fall over, ignoring the man's muffled moan of protest as his grip tightened into a fist.

He was close,  _so_  close, and if the pseudo-psychic moaned again, he was going to lose it completely.

Sensing him teetering, Shawn did exactly that, somehow smiling up at him with mouth full.

"Fuck!" the detective growled, his body tensing and jaw clenching as the entirety of his being exploded out of his cock. He said it again, groaning; breathless, he looked down, his eyes glazed over with bliss - a look that changed to surprise when Spencer swallowed.

Incredibly grateful for the burnished steel supporting his weight, Carlton felt boneless, curious as to how his legs were keeping him upright. Wrapped in the warmth of his post-coital glow, he didn't want to move - wasn't even sure he could - but as Shawn wiped his mouth and began to stand, the door shifted behind him.

McNab's voice filtered through.

"Guys, you in there?"

Panic rose like bile in his throat, his bliss gone like the wind.

_Shit._

"Quick, in a stall," Shawn whispered as he shoved Carlton toward the larger of the two, aware getting caught was the last thing the detective needed right now. "Pretend you're sick."

Carlton didn't need to pretend. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet, shame washing over him as he tucked himself in, nausea settling deep. The tequila rolled around in his gut like a cat high on nip, and as reality came crashing down around him, he thought he might hurl for real.

_What have I done?!_

This changed everything.

He didn't want things to change; he was barely capable of dealing with things as is!

But his body didn't care, and his stomach turned to lead. As McNab shoved his head through the door to ask if all was okay, Carlton's brain rushed to reconnect to his body and he gagged, the enormity of the evening overtaking him. Shaking, he left Spencer to deal with the mess they had created, curling into a ball as he chastised himself.

_Sweet Lady Justice. What the hell did I just do?_

* * *

"Hey, guys. You've been gone awhile. Everything okay?" the junior officer asked, his shoulder propping the door open, leaking the sound of the real world into the room.

Shawn glanced at Lassiter hunched over the john, a worried look flashing across his face. The cop was either putting on a hell of a show or something was seriously wrong. Either way, he knew he needed to get Buzz out of here,  _fast_.

"Lassie's feeling sick," he replied, his mind latching onto the obvious explanation. And it was true, he knew. But  _why_  Lassie was feeling sick was the important question. "He and José got a little too friendly, if you know what I mean."

"José?" the young cop asked, confused.

Shawn nodded, a grave look upon his face as he explained. "Cuervo."

"Ahh, the tequila!" Buzz exclaimed, stepping into the room to offer his assistance. "Well, does he need anything? Is there anything I can -"

Lassiter growled from the stall, sounding more animal than man.

"Leave."

Buzz's brow furrowed, and Shawn could tell the man was worried.

"Are you sure? I could -"

"Just go, dammit!" Lassiter shouted.

Buzz flinched.

"It's okay, Buzz," Shawn insisted, directing the helpful man toward the exit, his brow slightly furrowed. "He's just cranky cause he's a got a feel-bad. I got this; you go back to the table. He just needs some time."

"Okaaaay," Buzz said, still a little unsure. "Want me to tell the gang what's up?"

Shawn chuckled at McNab's choice of words.

Nothing was up.

_Well, not anymore..._

"Sure, buddy. Thanks. We'll be out in a little bit."

And they would.

Just as soon as Shawn figured out what the hell was going on.


End file.
